Fractured Sins
by Nythtak
Summary: Hadrian Avaric, infamous child partner to a sadistic muggle serial killer, turns out to be Harry Potter, twin to the Boy-Who-Lived and son of war heroes Lily and James Potter. The twisted twelve-year-old they take home can only anticipate the inevitable blood bath as he watches the foolish wand-users, darkness roiling beneath his skin. Twin!Fic Dark!Harry Maybe? Wrong!BWL
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter, _but any ocs and general plot distortions that you don't recognise (I can't exactly claim the twin!fic as original) are pretty much mine. _

_Chapter One_

Albus apparated onto the pavement with a faint _crack, _years of using the technique allowing him to dull the sound of his arrival. A moment later James and Lily Potter appeared beside him, their own announcement a much sharper sound that carried in the evening air, but the couple did not care for that. Instead, their eyes were riveted to the building before them, faces pale and drawn. Albus sighed and he also took a moment to examine the institution.

The building was a grim place; three stories of grey walls in a uniform rectangle, sloping roof a darker shade, and the windows were few and small. A high fence of black bars encircled the building, their tips curving inwards to as to dissuade any possible escapes, and though there was an area of grass between fence and building it was brown and dry in the summer heat. Despite the depressing atmosphere it was in a good state of repair; no rubbish littering the ground, no signs of vandalism or the like. Still, the overall impression of the place was that it was not one you entered light-heartedly.

Albus managed an encouraging smile when the Potters looked to him for guidance, though the twinkle was noticeably absent from his eyes. "Let us not keep young Harry waiting," he said gently, waiting for their nods before striding towards the gate. There was a small metal box attached to a thicker bar with a small button on it, which he pressed.

After a moment of silence a crackling comes from the box, and a voice said, "Please state your name and business."

"Albus Dumbledore, Lily Potter and James Potter, here to visit Hadrian Avaric," he said, barely hesitating over the name. It was one that he'd only recently begun to associate with Harry Potter, the boy he'd been trying to find for the better part of eight years, ever since the Dursleys had first been noticed missing. Search efforts had dwindled out in recent years when previous attempts proved fruitless, and Albus and the Potters had all but given up. They'd hoped when Harry turned eleven that his Hogwarts letter would reveal his location, but his birthday came and went with no letter ever being written by the enchanted quill. The Potters had grieved the son they'd never known, assuming him dead, and Albus had reluctantly accepted his failure to keep the younger Potter twin alive. It was only through a stroke of pure luck that they'd realised their mistake.

"Please come to the reception," the female voice said dully, and there was a _beep_ from the metal gate. Albus pushed it open and made his way towards the institution's doors, the Potters trailing behind him. The reception was much more welcoming than the outside of the building, with walls painted a pale cream and a dark wooden floor. There were several chairs along one wall and a table with an assortment of magazines, and on the other wall was a television which was currently switched off. In each corner was a camera that swivelled to get a full view of the room. Albus walked towards the desk directly ahead of him, where a young woman with black hair in a tight bun sat behind a computer. The badge on her blouse said that she was L .Gibson.

Miss Gibson glanced up at them when they entered, blue eyes examining them as they approached her desk. Albus was wearing a pale lavender suit with a green tie, whilst the Potters had dressed more conservatively, Lily in a dark blue blouse and grey skirt, James in black trousers and white buttoned up shirt. Miss Gibson blinked at them before shaking her head with a soft snort, though she maintained a sceptical look. "I've looked at Mr. Avaric's file and there's no mention of any visitors coming today. Or ever," she added in a mutter that just barely reached Albus' ears.

He smiled genially at her. "I am the headmaster of a boarding school. Mr. Avaric has a place at my school, you see, and I am here to discuss this with him."

She frowned, glancing at the file displayed on her computer. "I don't think that will be possible. He's on the most secure level we have, and- oh," her face took on a greenish tinge as her eyes flickered across the screen, before she swallowed thickly. "I-I really don't think it's a good idea for him to leave any time soon."

James shifted nervously, but Albus continued to smile. "I assure you, Mr. Avaric has been registered for my school since he was born. Whatever the circumstances, we will accept him."

"You don't understand," she said irritably, though the hint of fear was still there. "You _can't _take him. He's here, in a juvenile detention centre, for a reason. His psychiatrist says that he hasn't made any progress with him, and I highly doubt your school has the facilities needed to keep him under control. Besides, you can't take him without some sort of official authorisation."

Seeing that he could not persuade the young woman with words, Albus pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over to here. "I think that this will clear up everything," he said. Confused, Miss Gibson looked at the paper, and the compulsion he'd placed on it quickly took hold. Her eyes lost focus for a few seconds before she blinked back into reality, though she remained dazed. "Hadrian Avaric is being transferred to another facility that can better care for his needs."

"Of course," she said, somewhat dreamily as she typed, "I'll call someone to take you to him."

A few minutes later a man walked through a door to their right, having to unlock it before he did so. He was quite tall and muscular, face harsh and observing as he made his way over to them. He scowled when Albus greeted him, grumbling out that his name was Ben Elliott and to follow him. Albus strode alongside the irate man, unaffected by his standoffish air, and attempted to strike up a conversation. "Do you know Mr. Avaric well?"

Ben scoffed, scowl deepening. "Everyone knows Avaric. He's practically famous, down here."

"Perhaps you could tell me a little about him?"

Ben gave him a suspicious look before shrugging. "He was in America when they caught him, but they found an English passport on him so he got sent here. The security guards don't get told what the bastards do to get in, just how dangerous they are, and Avaric's as bad as they come. It'd be better if we just kept him in his room all the time in my opinion, but we have to let him out for meals and lessons if he hasn't done anything recently. Kid's damn smart, from what I've seen, but ain't too interested in learning."

Albus' smile gradually fell with every word, but he let none of his wariness show on his face. "Does he have many friends?"

Ben choked out a harsh laugh. "Friends? Avaric?" He asked incredulously, shaking his head. "The boys may've been stupid enough to get in here, but they've got good instincts. They know to stay away. Doesn't stop half of 'em from worshiping him though."

"Worship?" James repeated in alarm. "Why would they do that when he's-" he cut himself off.

The guard scoffed at him. "This isn't some fluffy playground, and these aren't innocent little kiddies. They've fucked up in some way – theft, assault, arson, murder; there's allsorts in here. Most've them stay the hell outa Avaric's way, but a lot of them admire him for what he did. Like he's some sorta artist and they're his fans. Don't know how they found out about it – probably one of their visitors told 'em – but they all know. He's dangerous, and the bastards like that."

Unsure what to say, the three magic-users followed Ben as he lead them up a couple of flights of stairs. "We keep the worst ones at the top," he explained, unlocking another door to get into the corridor. "So that if they break out of their rooms we've got more of a chance of stoppin' them." A guard in the same grey uniform as Ben was stalking down the corridor and the two exchanged nods as they passed. On either side of them were numerous white doors, matching the stark white of the walls, with numbers posted by each door. It was a lot less friendly than the reception area, and the utter silence was eerie. "Used to be there was always a right racket up here," Ben said. "But Alaric said they were being too noisy, that it was irritating him. They shut up right quick."

Ben stopped in front of a door that was a lot thicker than the previous ones, made of metal rather than wood. There were no small windows like the previous doors had, just a thin slot at eyelevel that had to be slid open, and one at waist height. At their curious looks Ben said, "He broke down his last door – don't know how, he's a bloody stick – so we moved him to a more secure one." He hesitated, watching them for a moment, before saying, "You sure you wanna see him? He doesn't look like much, but there's a reason the others are terrified of him, even if we don't have any proof. Taylor was a right psycho, but he wasn't into torturing himself no matter what the report says happened, and then there was Goldings…" he trailed off, a disturbed expression on his face.

"Goldings?" Albus prodded, trying to ignore the swirl of dread. Was Harry another Tom Riddle, or…perhaps worse? No, that couldn't be right. Like the man said, there was no evidence Harry had done anything. No son of James and Lily Potter could possibly be so cruel. The lad was probably just traumatised; he'd been in the care of a serial killer for several years, after all.

That was how they'd found him at last. One of the Order of the Phoenix had family in America, and had gone to visit them when she'd seen an old newspaper – one of the boys collected them – and spotted Harry's picture on the front page. It was a sketch from a court proceeding, photos kept out of the media since Harry was a child, but there was no mistaking the peculiar scar and the eyes the reporter had described as "an eerie emerald green". It had been worth investigating, and they'd tracked Harry down to this institute with the intention of immediately taking him home and introducing him to the wizarding world. By September he would be going to Hogwarts as a second year student, whilst private tutors would aim to catch him up over the summer. Albus only hoped it would run smoothly despite Harry's past, and that he would not waste the second chance Albus was giving him.

"It happened just after Avaric arrived," Ben answered uneasily, staring at the thick metal door with a glazed look of remembrance. "Goldings was a thief, pretty much compulsively, and a damned good one too. But then he tried to get something of Avaric's, a pen or something stupid like that, and before we could even _move _Avaric had crushed his neck – wrapped his tiny hand around it and just _crushed it_. Broke his spine too – kid was dead instantly," he shook his head slowly, "I've seen some shit, but that? That's not even human."

Albus didn't have to look at the Potters to see that their faces had gone white, whilst he himself had to steady his shaking hands. He reminded himself that Harry was just a child, and had no idea what he was doing. Albus and the Potters would help to guide him, to make him see how hurting others was wrong. "We'd like to see him, if you don't mind," Albus said confidently, even as Ben shot him a dubious look.

"Whatever you say," the prison guard muttered before he rapped heavily on the door. Lily and James flinched at the loud sound as the metal echoed with the hit, blatantly disturbing the silence. "Hands," Ben stated dully as he slid the waist-height panel to the side. A moment later a pair of small, thin hands were placed though the gap, and Albus eyed the scarring across the back. They varied greatly; layered across the knuckles, a long winding cut on the right hand, several circular holes on the left. Disgust-tainted curiosity and sadness welled in him as he wondered what had caused such injuries.

Ben grabbed a pair of handcuffs from his belt and closed them around the wrists, which pulled back into the room once they were released. "Stand back from the door," Ben ordered, shutting the bottom panel before opening the eye height one and peering in. His eyes narrowed and there was a faint chuckle from the prisoner – Harry, Albus reminded himself with a frown – that brushed an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

"Is this really necessary?" Albus asked. Was the boy really so dangerous that he required to be bound in handcuffs? He was on twelve years old, and surely was no match for four adults, no matter how frail Albus appeared. To go to such extremes to contain a child…

Ben gave a grim smile. "Absolutely." Then he opened the door.

The room was small and sparse, stone walls bare and the light bulb caged to the ceiling the only source of light. To the right was a bed, or rather a slab of metal affixed to the wall covered by a thin mattress that, though perfectly clean, hardly offered much comfort. Opposite it a pile of battered books were stacked, spines broken with use and pages well-thumbed. And leaning against the back wall, considering them with bright green eyes and a crooked smile, was Harry Potter.

**. . .**

Lily drunk in the sight of her son hungrily – and she knew instantly that this was indeed her son, her Harry - tracing his form with attentive eyes. His hair was longer than James', tied back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck whilst the rest hung freely around his face, but it held a hint of the Potter messiness in its waves. The eyes belonged to Lily in both shape and colour, if slightly lighter, the small pointed nose and heart-shaped face hers also. But his Black heritage lingered in the high cheekbones and sharp lines of his narrow jaw, the hint of the merged aristocratic bloodlines. She wondered why is was so strong in Harry when it was hardly as apparent in Matthew, but then for all that they were twins they had never really looked alike beyond brothers, even as babies.

She searched for the cheerful infant in the boy before her, tried to find the imagined child she'd built up in her head ever since hearing that he was alive, only to find she couldn't. His skin held a tan that even two years in the institute couldn't take away, nothing like the paleness he'd had when she last saw him, and though the features were familiar the way they fit together made them strange, a distortion of the face she'd imagined.

There was none of the naïve innocence clinging to his expression like she saw in other children, and though he was a beautiful child she couldn't help but think there was something ever so _wrong _with the way he watched them. There was none of the inquiring attention of a child meeting someone knew. No, the way he watched was like a predator stalking his prey, watching its every move in lazy anticipation until he finally grew bored and-

Lily viciously shook away her thoughts, dismissing them as the paranoia only war could cause. This was her _son, _her traumatised son who's been forced to do unspeakable acts by a man far fouler than many Death Eaters, even without magic at his disposal. He was hurt in a way far worse than any physical wound, and it was her duty as his mother to heal him. How could she blame him for doing something he had no choice in? Somewhere, she knew, he was still the smiling little boy she'd loved with all her heart. Eleven years of his life she had missed out on, eleven years she would never get back, but she'd be damned if she wasted any more time.

It was for his own safety that she'd left him at Petunia's. When she and James had heard of the prophecy they'd been overcome with horror, terrified that their babies would be targeted. In a war it was never safe to have children, especially not to parents as well known as the Potters, but the instant she'd realised she was pregnant she'd loved her children – the idea of _killing _them made her sick. The awe of the budding life inside her had taken hold and she'd shared this excitement with a stunned James, who in the typical reckless manner she'd come to love had declared that their children were just as entitled to live in this world as any other, war or not. They'd decided that they'd go into hiding whilst the children were young, sharing the knowledge with only their closest friends, and re-join the fight only when they knew their children were cared for. As much as Lily wanted to run away with James and their sons, hide from the threat and live their lives, she could never be content in letting her children grow up in a world orchestrated by Voldemort.

However, the prophecy changed everything. Her children had become immediate targets and so the moment they were born her family were hidden beneath the protection of a Fidelius charm. For one short year they'd lived in a paranoia-haunted peace, wands never far from hand even as they played with their sons, managing to find joy even in that dark time. She never could have imagined the betrayal that loomed, brought forth by one of their most trusted. It still left a bitter taste in her mouth, and an aching sadness when she recalled the man who had paid the price. Sirius Black had taken their place in death when he offered to look after the twins whilst Lily and James left to speak with Albus, and the sight of his lifeless body haunted Lily's nightmares.

Matthew, her oldest son, had been hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived minutes after they retrieved the crying boy and his silent brother from the rubble that had been their home. The killing curse had left a curving slice on his forehead, saturated in Dark magic, but other than that neither twin had been harmed. The relief at Voldemort's defeat had barely begun to spread when the Death Eaters, desperate and unorganised without their master, tried their hands at revenge. She'd underestimated their number and paid for it in a continuous stream of close calls as the Death Eaters doggedly tailed them, intent on killing the boy who'd destroyed their leader. And Lily decided that she couldn't endanger Harry this way, not when he wasn't even a target. She and James agreed that he would be safer away from them, hidden in the muggle world where no Dark wizard would think to look. But even that wouldn't be enough; there was still a chance he could be found. So she researched the most powerful protective magic she could find, eventually discovering Blood Wards. They would keep Harry safe from any who meant him harm, hide him from the Death Eaters and their allies, but as strong magic always did certain condition must be met. Harry would have to live with someone he was blood-related to, and as reluctant as she was Petunia was their only option. The Potters were few when the war started, and by its end James was the only one left, and Lily's only relative was her sister.

Lily had always mourned the destruction of her relationship with her sister, hating how Petunia's jealously twisted her into a bitter woman. They hadn't spoken since before Lily had gotten pregnant, but Lily hadn't doubted that Petunia would take in her son once she knew the danger they were in. She remembered that night, how shocked Petunia had looked when she handed over the sleeping Harry, how she'd explained as quickly as she could whilst darting looks over her shoulder into the dark night. She'd come alone so there was less of a chance of detection, leaving James to watch over Matthew. The blood wards were an intricate piece of magic, but her determination and innate talent had seen her through it even as she hastily explained their purpose to a gaping Petunia, how they would protect her family too, handing over a letter detailing the end of the war and the ensuing danger to Lily's children. The last glimpse she'd had of Harry was savoured, tears threatening to distort her vision, and with a desperate kiss to his forehead she'd left.

Two years passed before they were finally safe again, those who wished them harm behind bars or cowed away from taking action. The wizarding world had celebrated them as saviours even as they ran, and they'd been overwhelmed by their scrutiny before growing used to it, even enjoying it at times. Thoughts of getting Harry had been postponed under the weight of post-war reparations and the role the Potters were expected to pay, until Lily decided that it was better for Harry to remain in the anonymity of the muggle world, away from his twin's inevitable shadow and the demanding public, as much as it pained her to do so. And then he'd disappeared along with the Dursleys, and to her horror the panic was almost dull after so many years of separation, after getting used to the thought of only Matthew as her son. Search efforts, magical or not, revealed nothing of where he Dursleys had gone, Harry with them, and as years went by grief had replaced her hope, the surety of his death increasing until she finally gave in.

To see him now, alive, was nothing short of a miracle. She was determined to correct her mistake, to bond with the son who'd grown up without her. So it was with a warm smile that she stepped into the room, ignoring the way Harry's eyes narrowed or James's cautioning hand on her shoulder. Despite imagining this moment for so long she found herself at loss for words, and could only say with a sort of breathless awe, "Harry."

Harry's eyes focussed on her face, and she couldn't look away from the intense gaze as it examined her closely. It held a quality to it that made her freeze beneath his scrutiny with neither fear nor joy. She _wanted _to keep looking, to watch the boy she'd unwillingly given up when he was little more than a baby, but at the same time it almost pained her to do so. He didn't look like a child with eyes like that, she realised, finding it difficult to believe that he was barely twelve-years-old. They were haunted, broken in a way she was helpless to understand.

Then he smiled, a cruel twist of his mouth, and spoke in a voice unhindered by the stumbles of a young boy, smooth and horribly knowing. "Hello, Mother."

**. . .**

_Not quite sure where I'm going with this fic, only that with my version of Harry and a vague plan of what he'll get up to it should be fun. _

_I don't know anything about juvenile centres so yeah expect inaccuracies. If you want an explanation I could cite that the HP world is different to our own, and with the addition of magical beings there are bound to be distortions in the muggle world too, i.e. harsher juvenile centres. _

_If it's not clear what happened to Harry between Lily dropping him off and his re-discovery, it's pretty much supposed to be. The general idea you're meant to get it that he goes to the Dursleys, something happens to them, he disappears and shows up in America several years later as the dubious 'assistant' to a mass murderer, and since he was found with an English passport he's sent to England to be dealt with (again, I know nothing of how law works, so inaccuracies abound!). He gets put in juvie where he pretty much terrorises everyone, until the Potters and Dumbledore show up. And that's all, folks! _

_Twin!Fics are a bit overdone, I know, I've even written another myself. However there is something attractive about taking a cliché and twisting it into something new. For example, I've got another twin!fic with living!Potters in the making, but the way the Potters react to Harry is completely different to how they are in this one. The characterisation of Harry plays a huge part in that as well, as you'll hopefully see if you keep reading. This won't be an abusive!evil!Potter fic either, since though many people pull it off a lot of the time it comes off as kind of ridiculous to me when you consider the canon characterisations of Lily and James. Not to say that they're going to have a lovey-dovey relationship of any sort – there's no way my version of Harry would allow that to happen. He's pretty cruel and twisted, as the next chapter gives an insight into. _

_Reviews are always appreciated, whether positive or negative, and they really do encourage me to keep writing. If you have any questions I'll answer to the best of my ability, and if you spot any errors left me know, though do keep in mind that any changes in canon may be intentional. Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Hadrian was startled when he heard someone knocking on his door. Lessons were over for the day, and he'd already visited the bathroom twice, so why would they need him again? He was rather used to evenings empty of interaction, where he could dwell on his nihilistic tendencies to his heart's content or otherwise entertain his lonesome self. Company was something he preferred in short segments; the only time he saw the other boys being in lessons and during meals, since he was denied access to the courtyard after a particularly violent incident with a new arrival. Poor boy had thought himself powerful, with his larger body and even larger ego. Hadrian had been happy to correct that assumption. Besides, it had been a while since he'd last spilled blood, and he couldn't have the well getting dry, now could he?

Further isolation didn't bother him, but boredom was something that had begun to plague him all the more often. Often he drowned it out with imaginings of his best work; replaying the greatest hits, as it were. He had quite the vivid imagination, and recalling incidents from even years ago were something he'd become adept at, imprisoned with only his mind as company. Tormenting his fellow incarcerates was fun, but he never had enough time as he had when he was in America, those pesky guards never far from sight and interrupting his games. He enjoyed reading, and so the few books the institute were willing to hand out kept him sated for a time, however he quickly devoured them and had to settle for re-reading the dull literature. Honestly, books could hardly give him ideas on more creative ways to kill, but such is the paranoia of whoever ran this place.

The idea of escaping was one that became increasingly appealing as time went by. On the other hand he'd only been here a year, and hadn't yet got around to studying all of the inhabitants. That was the reason he'd stuck around in the first place; to gain a better understanding of children his age. Hadrian hadn't been in 'polite society' – if the Dursleys could truly have been called that - long enough to get much of a sense on how children were supposed to act, and if he was ever going to survive alone he'd need to least a rudimentary idea. And what better way than in the concrete fish bowel that was the institute, where his subjects could never escape him? Criminals though they may be, they still offered an insight into how people worked, one he was sorely lacking when his only experience pertained to a sadistic serial killer and his – or rather, their – terrified victims.

Oh, he could charm and manipulate his way into a person's heart, get them to trust him and follow him to wherever Leon directed, but it would never hold up over a long period of time or under sharp scrutiny. He'd realised this when a particularly smart officer had picked apart his innocent façade, sending him to this place where psychiatrists had further dug into him. He'd caught on, of course, anger only spurring him to learn faster, but ingrained behaviour was hard to budge. So he stayed and watched, figuring that at least in here he wouldn't have to worry about concerned foster parents or social services as he would on the outside. Besides, he'd gotten used to this life, and the isolation gave him plenty of chance to play with his magic.

The disruption to his routine was met with idle curiosity. Hadrian didn't get visitors; there were no concerned parents lamenting where they went wrong or denial-spurred rants for him. Honestly he preferred it that way, lacking interest in the outside world that visitors may have offered information on. What did it matter to him who the prime minister was or what petty war had started up since he'd been locked up? Life would continue on regardless, and his was currently confined to the walls of the institute. As long as no secret was hidden from him within this place, he was content.

But a glitch in what he'd considered the current rules of his life – a knock on the door when there should be no knock – now that was met with intrigue. So he rose languidly from the bed and strode over to the door when he heard Ben's bland order. He quite liked Ben, in the way that he liked the ones who hid their fear behind a fierce wall of put-upon burliness in the face of their torturer, liked to watch how the cracks splintered across their masks when he found their breaking point. The guard was unnerved by him, it was clear in the uneasy glances and tensed muscles, constantly ready to defend from an attack that never came. He liked inspiring fear in a person he'd never even touched; it held a finesse to it that the comparatively crude inducement of pain lacked. It was the only reason he hadn't played with his personal guard, and restrained himself to his fellow inmates when it came to the art of blood.

The handcuffs were irritating but tolerated, something he had grown used to and was quite confident he could slip out of if need be. The false safety they represented amused him. Did they really think that just because they bound his hands he was made harmless, claws dulled and fangs broken? Such underestimation should have annoyed him, but he revelled in their naivety instead, imagining how they'd react to the realised mistake. A flash of horrified understanding, then panic, pure, delicious _panic _in the face of their own erroneous judgement, in the wrong they'd never survive to right.

"Stand back from the door."

Hadrian waited until a pair of brown eyes peered in, catching them and widening his grin tauntingly. He could see the annoyance and hatred in them that thinly covered the intrinsic fear, the animalistic need to bluster in the hopes of intimidating the stronger opponent. So many men held this trait, but it never got boring to watch as it crumbled around them, to watch their sobbing defeatism and know _he _was the cause of such a fall from pride. The chuckle that escaped his lips was entirely intentional, thick and insidious in a way that only hinted at the malicious thoughts filling his head, a tool to shake even the most confident of men.

The panel was slammed shut, thick steel muffling the voices on the other side. Months of this had only served to improve his hearing and he could detect a second man even if he couldn't tell what was being said. Skills such as this were gratefully cultivated in the near-silence of isolation, where the beating of his heart threatened to thunder in his ears should he listen too closely.

Hard cinder block met his back as he rested against the wall, belligerent in the openness of his body language, the tilted smile on his lips so familiar a gesture it came automatically at the opening on the door. He examined them, ignoring Ben for the moment as inconsequential, and wondered at the strangeness he sensed of them. It was that sliver of power only magical beings held, the hint of thunder that swirled beneath the human disguise they wore so willingly. The wands in their possession stood out like beacons in the darkness of a roiling sea, threads of their individual magic connecting with the conduits in such a way he could hardly believe his eyes were not the ones detecting them. Wand-users then, like Hadrian had been before Leon 'adopted' him, before he even knew what magic was. It was only his young age that had allowed him to adapt to the cloying power Leon imparted on him, and the act had nearly killed him anyway. Wand-users were weak, in Leon's contemptuous opinion, so dependent on what should be but a tool and the fixed maxim cultivated over the centuries, dwelling happily in their stagnation. What could they want with him, these facetious guests?

He looked to the most powerful of them, the old man dressed so blithely in eye-soring clothes that failed to mask the aura of brittle strength clinging to heavily to him. Grey beard and twinkling eyes painted him as the caring grandfather, lined face set into compassionate features, yet there was a shrewdness to it that belied his façade. Oh, he didn't doubt that his mask was a heavy facet of the man's personality, but the underlying hints of a soldier, no a _general,_ could not be swept away so easily. Hadrian may have difficulties with maintaining his act, but he could _read _like no other, unravelling lies with a glee rarely matched. It was rare that he resorted to his gift in this, but curiosity got the better of him. The thin, sneaking tendril of magic brushed against the old man's surface thoughts before hitting an impenetrable shield, and he retracted before the old man could sense something amiss. He repressed the desire to hammer and storm at the walls until they shattered – it wouldn't do to end his entertainment so soon.

The old man may be an interesting specimen, but it was the young couple who captured his attention. They were dressed far more unobtrusively, boasting knowledge of muggles so many magicals dismissed, and he sensed that they too were quite strong, though nowhere near as impressive as the old man. However, this knowledge didn't buffer his searching eyes for long. There was no mistaking the familiarity of those features he only saw in his reflection, mismatched and abstract as they were. Parents were a concept to him, and one he had long-since given up on, before he had even been taken into the illustrious care of Leon. The most he could remember of them had been a faint impression of red hair and circular glasses – the same pair that sat on the bridge of the man's nose, if he wasn't mistaken – and whatever information the Dursleys had forked over was unreliable at best. That they'd abandoned him on their doorstep was a constant in their stories, though whether they were druggies, alcoholics, convicts, prostitutes or homeless tended to vary with dismaying frequency. Other than that they were two blank slates he'd hurled his hurt resentment at long ago, and thoughts of reunion had dallied between heartfelt declarations that they had never meant to leave – of course, this was when he was young and still rather innocent – to schemes of revenge so creative in their cruelty even the older, more experienced him had been impressed.

Yet here they were, and there was…nothing. No bitter anger or sudden swell of love, no longing to be hugged or desire to carve out their hearts. They were just two people, interesting in their novelty but other than that they were hardly remarkable. Oh, he was curious as to how they worked, and why they had chosen to abandon him, but discovering the machinations of people was always something he'd enjoyed; it did not make these people special. They had contributed to his existence, but other than that he sensed no connection to these strangers.

And looking at them now, seeing the earnest surprise his words caused – really, it was hardly difficult to figure out that they were his parents, how predictable that they'd underestimate him – he could only think that they'd disappoint him.

**. . .**

"H-how do you-" Lily gaped, words stuttering as she tried to understand how Harry could possibly know that she was his mother. Had Petunia told him about her, maybe even kept a photo or two? But Harry had been as young as four when he was taken from the Dursleys; how could he possibly remember her face? The thought sprung a blossom of hope that had been beaten down as she walked through the depressing halls of the juvenile centre, a hope that she could repair the relationship with her son that had been cut off when he was little more than a baby.

The cold, drawling tone he took dampened these hopes. "It's all in the genetics, I think you'll find." His heel began to tap an off-rhythm beat against the wall as he examined her and James, and when he scoffed lightly Lily couldn't help but think they'd been found wanting. "Quite the patchwork I've got, judging by the two of you, but it's hardly the most strenuous task to piece together the fact that you're my biological parents." A tilt of his head and the contempt spread across his expression, sharpening already angular features. "And my name isn't Harry, it's Hadrian."

"We named you Harry-" James started, and Lily winced because this was not how she wanted this to go, not at all. The structure of the conversation was upset by the clear hostility displayed by Harry, as well as his unexpected knowledge and the reaction he had to it.

"Harry is such a nasty, common name," Harry interrupted with a voice that dripped with distaste, painfully mocking in the jeering lilt. "Leon hated it, so I'm Hadrian now. Or is that too difficult for you to comprehend, dear parents of mine?"

"Now, Harry," Albus interjected sternly, and Lily was relieved at the release from being the sole receptor of Harry's scornful gaze. She belatedly realised that the guard who had lead them here was gone, the door shut behind them. "There is no need for such rudeness, especially to the people who love you. If you would listen for a moment, we will explain everything to you."

Something flashed across Harry's face at the word 'love', and the flicker of such a dark emotion made Lily almost flinch back. Then he was smiling, wide and fake like the corners of his lips were pulled up on marionette strings. Rather than an expression of joy it was one of painful mimicry. "How could I have forgotten my manners? Please, take a seat," he said grandly, gesturing to the bed with handcuffed hands like a conductor before his orchestra.

Warily, Lily and her husband accepted the sardonic offering, settling uncomfortably on the thin mattress whilst Albus remained standing opposite Harry. "I'm quite happy to remain on my feet, Harry," Albus said with a hint of his usual oblique cheerfulness. "These old bones may never find it in them to get back up, I'm afraid."

"Of course," Harry agreed. There were a few moments of awkward silence before he prompted, "Perhaps you could start with telling me who you are?"

"Who we- oh," Lily flushed, realising that though Harry knew they were his parents he didn't even know their names. "I'm Lily Potter, and your father is James. This," she nodded to Albus, "is Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, and a good friend of ours."

"As for an explanation," James started, and Lily hated the way he watched Harry so cautiously, like he did with the Dark wizards he caught. Harry was their son, not some criminal- her thoughts halted abruptly, and she winced. It seemed such an impossible fact to forget, and yet she had. Maybe because she so wanted to forget.

So instead she listened as James recounted the war that had ripped apart the wizarding world, his tale of how no hope was in sight when in a shocking turn of events Lord Voldemort was defeated. He talked about how Harry had a twin brother, and it was he who had brought about the end of the most evil wizard to ever live. How despite this danger still stalked their family, and they had had no other choice but to leave Harry at Petunia's in order to keep him safe. The reasons behind Harry's abandonment were neatly explained, and Lily realised James had practised this speech, several times if the impersonal tone he took spoke for him. There was something horrible about that; to describe such a calamity unaffected.

To all of this, Harry listened with his head tilted to the side, a caustic incredulity spreading through his features with every word. Over what, he never revealed, remaining silent in the face of the ensuing pause when James finished. He seemed to be going over what he'd been told in his head; at least, that was what Lily guessed. For such a young boy he had a firm hold on his emotions. Any other child and she'd expect them to yell over his abandonment, maybe feel happy at finally knowing the truth, or decide that he didn't believe their words and demand proof.

In line with that last thought, Lily asked, "Did Petunia tell you anything about the magical world? About me?"

Something gleeful entered those eyes. "Oh yes, she told me _all _about you."

"Really?" Maybe Petunia didn't hate her as much as she'd thought? Lily had always wanted to mend her relationship with her sister, she just didn't know how to. The rift that Lily's magical powers had caused seemed impossibly wide, but maybe if Petunia was willing – and Harry told them where the Dursleys had disappeared off to – there was a chance. In her rekindled hope she was ignorant to the dark smile on her son's face.

"The whore that ran off to learn to be a better freak; it was quite the fairy tale," Harry said idly, seeming to not notice the way Lily flinched back as if struck. Apparently ignorant to the pain flashing across Lily's face and the indignation blooming on the two men's, he took on the tone of a story-teller, light and drawling. "Each year she comes back stranger, a nutjob in the making as she regales her poor, naïve parents with tales of the perverse and abhorrent. What a horrible, wicked whore she was-"

"That's enough!" James shouted as he leapt to his feet, face reddening with anger and wand in shaking hand. Harry stared back coolly as the wand levelled with his face. "I won't have you talking like that about my wife, even if you are my son!"

"But I was only repeating what I'd been told," Harry claimed with sickeningly false innocence, his satisfied smirk at odds with his voice. "Would you like to hear what Petunia said about you? The homeless drunken bastard-"

"James, calm down," Albus ordered firmly, stopping the younger man in his tracks as he took a raging step towards his son. "I'm sure it was not Harry's intention to insult you, and was only, as he said, reiterating Petunia's words. Harry," he continued sternly when James begrudgingly sat down, "I would ask that you keep such hurtful words to yourself; such insults won't be tolerated at Hogwarts."

"How pretentious of you," Harry said almost sleepily, eyelids lowered in a pretence of boredom. "What makes you assume that I have any desire to attend this…school of yours?" The pause was barely noticeable, "school" drenched in disdain.

"You'd rather stay here?" James asked harshly, "Because I have half a mind to leave you locked up in this damn place-"

"James," Lily interrupted, placing a gentle hand on her husband's arms. She could almost feel the anger roiling beneath his tense muscles, and couldn't believe how wrong this discussion had gone. Still, despite his cutting words she was unwilling to give up on Harry so readily. Once James cooled down she knew he'd feel the same. "He's just a child; he doesn't know what he's saying."

A scoff from the boy in question. "As amusing as it is seeing you attempt to delude yourselves, perhaps you could get to the point of this _delightful _visit."

"We want you to live with us," Lily said quickly. "We're so, so sorry for ever leaving you, and we just want you back home. We can be a family again."

Unaffected by her heartfelt words, Harry raised an eyebrow. "Anything else? I have to say I'm rather underwhelmed if that's all."

Dumbfounded and hurt, Lily turned to Albus for help. He looked tired, like he'd aged through the course of the last five minutes. "You have a place at Hogwarts, where you can learn how to use your magic. It is not unheard of for a student to join later on than the standard eleven years, but it is a privilege all the same. I'm sure your parents can organise for tutors to teach you the first year course so that you can take second-year classes in September with the rest of your peers, if you'd like."

Harry watched them for a few moments, eyes flickering between them as a slow, slanted grin spread across his face. He released a short, harsh laugh at their expense. "Not quite how you expected this to go, is it?" he taunted, continuing before they could get a word in. "You expected a child – a damaged, traumatised child who longed for his parents to come save him, to be one big, happy _family_ again. Oh, he made some _terrible _mistakes, did some horrible things, but it isn't his fault, he's just a child who doesn't know any better. But let me tell you this," he leant forwards, shark's grin broad and threatening. "I _know._"

Speechless silence followed Harry's short tirade, and Lily couldn't find it in herself to pretend that this was okay, that it was just the confused ranting of a distraught child lashing out. She didn't think she'd met anyone so confident and assured in their every word, every opinion and expression. She didn't think she'd ever met anyone less like a child.

"But I suppose I'll go," Harry stated nonchalantly to the three adults' surprise, turning his disinterested gaze to the ceiling. "Might be fun."

"Right, uh," James said, blinking with confusion painted across his honest features. He awkwardly looked around the small room. "Do you have anything you want to take with you?"

Harry spared him a sneering glance which made James flush. "Oh yes, this cell contains so many precious mementos, how ever could I leave them all behind?" Pushing off from the wall he slinked towards them, and Lily barely caught the step back her body made in response. Harry saw it by the way his eyes latched onto hers, crooked smile twitching wider.

Thankfully he didn't say anything, instead holding his handcuffed hands out. "Since you're busting me out of this place, think you could go all the way?" He added lewdly, "They're hardly the most comfortable accessory, except in certain, ah, situations."

Lily blinked and tried very hard not to register what he meant as she flicked her wand against the handcuffs with a murmured, _"Alohamora." _The handcuffs unlatched and fell to the ground with a heavy _clunk. _

Harry gazed at her wand with an almost hungry look. "Handy." Lily hurriedly slipped it back up her sleeve into the awaiting holster. A barked laugh met her nervous action, before Harry strode towards the door and kicked it open. The thick metal door slammed against the wall with a loud, reverberating _bang, _causing the Potters to nearly jump out of their skin. They hurried after him.

With what could only be called a saunter Harry made his way down the corridor, each step of his trainer-clad feet slapping against the floor. Everything about his movement called attention to him, from the arrogant upward tilt of his head to the absurdly graceful roll of his walk, a heavy gravity about him that drew the eye, _demanded_ it, not by looks alone but by sheer presence. His thumbs were hooked in the belt loops of his trousers causing his arms to protrude slightly from his sides, short ponytail swishing behind him. He ignored the faces that plastered themselves to the small windows of each cell, but Lily could see the mixture of awe and terror on every boy's face as they passed their rooms. It made her think of a king strolling by his humbled subjects, fully aware of the power he held over them and enjoying every last drop of it.

Lily searched desperately for her son in this strange, cruel boy, and didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved when she found nothing.

**. . .**

_A/N: Just wanted to say that no, Harry (or Hadrian) will not be a complete dick throughout the entire story. The Potters and Dumbledore just make it so _easy _for him, what with bringing up things he utterly disdains, enhanced by his general boredom, and he's got them so off-balance that it's hard for them to gain control of the conversation. Not to say he's gonna be a little angel (unless it suits him), but petty insults aren't really his thing. _

_Why am I rationalising this? I'm not that keen on totaldick!Harry stories, though snarky is always good, so I'm hoping he didn't come across as one. This Harry is fun to write, messed up pre-teen that he is. His thinking process is just so freaking weird that getting into his head is both challenging and greatly enjoyable. Let me know what you guys think of him, and how the story is going as a whole! Reviews – compliments or criticism – are always welcome, and greatly appreciated. _


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

Hadrian could hear the Potters and Dumbledore following him as he made his way down the corridor, trailing on his heels with uncertainty slowing their steps. After his little performance he hardly blamed them for keeping their distance. He hadn't quite intended to resort to childish insults, but when his faux parents brought up _love _and _family, _well, they were practically begging for his scornful words. If they so happened to be true – Petunia had been quite the ranter, with a few glasses of wine to loosen her tongue – then who was he to protect mother dear from it? Lily had just looked so hopeful; it had been a pleasure to tear it to shreds.

The entertainment they were providing had turned out to be much more potent than he'd expected. Imagine that; little Hadrian Avaric was the twin brother to the famous Boy-Who-Lived! Such a fanciful tale James had told in that cold tone, with heroes and villains in a mighty battle of Light and Dark, set against each other in a Fate-devised conflict finally settled by a baby, innocent of innocents, icon of the Light and saviour of the wizarding world! Oh, it was enough to bring a tear to the eye!

He'd known the wand-users were prone to this sort of dramatics, but such a narrow-minded, clear-cut view of events was surely not accepted by the_ entire_ community? Ah, but this was the group that so decisively defined magic as either Light or Dark, so perhaps this was expected of them. He could only imagine how they would react to his exploits – the trio who'd come to collect him obviously had very minimal knowledge, likely believing the lie that he'd been an unwilling assistant who was brainwashed. Only Leon had an idea of the true extent of his…_depravity. _

Did they think they could fix him, like a broken toy destroyed by a petulant child, needing only a smidgen of tender loving care to turn him into a rosy-cheeked rascal? They must know of his exploits within the institute at least, or rather the few he could be connected to. Surely that would disillusion even the most hopeful of optimists? He hadn't made any effort to hide his nature during their conversation in the cell, in fact the rather put-upon hostility had only painted him in a worse light, so what drove them to sustain their offer? As much as he watched and learnt about people, they still managed to confuse him with their absurdities. But he guessed that's what kept them interesting.

The decision to agree with their whimsical offer was a rather impulsive one in itself. He wasn't interested in learning their wand-magic, not when his own perfectly suited his purposes, and the backwards wizarding world hardly appealed to him. He longed for parents no more than he longed for a bath in concentrated sulphuric acid – which he could contest was incredibly unpleasant, judging by the screams – and the Potters presentation of a loving home was a feeble bribe at best, an obnoxious deterrent at worst.

It was the idea of Hogwarts that had managed to catch his interest. Not the establishment itself, but the brewing mass of conflict that would inevitably poison its grounds. A war, a war that hadn't ended yet. Of course he'd noticed the masked look of Dumbledore's face when James proclaimed their ferocious Dark Lord defeated – _defeated, _not dead – and the faint anticipatory fear on the Potters. Hadrian was so familiar with fear that it wasn't hard to distinguish from other types, and as the painter of such emotions their weavings in the worn features of his dear parents were as clear as day. So yes, one day their Voldemort would make his return, and where would he strike first? What place in the British wizarding community held the greatest prestige and significance, housed and moulded the generations of witches and wizards, the soldiers of the next war?

Anyone could see that Dumbledore held a massive tactical advantage in any long-term war between him and Voldemort. Voldemort had to replenish his forces after all, and with Hogwarts being the only British school of magic it was his main source of wand-users. Granted, Hadrian was simply assuming this based on the fact that the British wizarding population was quite low, as well as due to Dumbledore's level of magical power; Hadrian doubted he would take charge of any school other than the best. He hadn't even known Hogwarts was a school, simply taking an educated guess from what the trio of wand-users had told him combined with the little Leon had mentioned. The guess of Hogwarts' importance was based on how wizards operated as a whole; they placed extreme emphasis on children, especially purebloods who rarely had more than two children at the most, and depended on them to pass on their traditions and bloodlines. A school, where so many of these children congregated for the majority of the year, held a great deal of significance.

But he digressed. The point was that when Voldemort inevitably returned he would have at least two main targets; Hogwarts, and the boy who had defeated him - who just happened to be at Hogwarts. Oh, he could just imagine the tensions between potential followers of the Light and those of the Dark, threads bared to _snap _as war closed around them and Voldemort tied his noose around their families' necks, follower or enemy both. And he could be there; a front row seat to the social turmoil as friend turned against friend, families were ripped apart and people scrabbled for the power to defend themselves and the ones they cared for. How could an ordinary, muggle juvenile centre possible compare to that?

However, it would not do to underestimate the wand-users. Limited though they were, he acknowledged that they could overpower him if the situation was in their favour, and, as indicated by Dumbledore earlier, his usual forms of amusement certainly wouldn't be tolerated at their child-friendly school. Rather than discourage him he was eager for the challenge; how to have fun without getting caught? It was a query he would find great enjoyment in solving, even if the idea of suppressing his violent tendencies hardly agreed with him. A test of his skill then, his endurance and ingenuity; figure out ways to entertain himself without resorting to the straightforward tactic of murder and torture. He grinned. They couldn't blame him for a little psychological warfare, could they? And surely these Dark wand-users had some _interesting_ forms of entertainment.

So he would be on his best behaviour, at least whilst he was in sight. He'd have to test the Potters a bit, see how much they could be manipulated even after such a first impression. Perhaps show a hint of vulnerability, of a scared child lashing out at the world? Or maybe just ignore and belittle whilst remaining within the limits of a traumatised hellion. They could hardly do much to a twelve-year-old, as evidenced by his now previous lodgings, and no matter how angry he made them the thought that he was 'just a child' would always remain in their minds.

Would they use their magic to 'help' him? It was a risk he would have to be aware of, defences up at all time in preparation of such an attack. He knew of certain mind magics that could be used to alter memory, even erasing it altogether, but none that could modify personality in any substantial and long-lasting way. His own magic offered a basic immunity – or rather, a vehement defence – but he would have to research it if he got the chance. A magical school needed magical supplies, correct? So before the school year started the Potters would take him to somewhere that sold such wares, since he would have to get a wand in order to do wand-user magics, and he'd been lead to believe that wands were highly specific to their users. Perhaps that would also give him the opportunity to find some entertainment.

The door at the end of the corridor was opened by a wary Ben, who watched Hadrian with suspicious eyes narrowed into slits. The guard's obvious reluctance was reflected in every movement of tense muscles and the gritting of his teeth, incredulous glances sent to the other three adults when he noticed the missing handcuffs. Hadrian taunted him with a slanted grin and mocking bow of his head. "It's been a _pleasure_."

Ben glared even as fear leaked into his expression at having the focus of the young boy directly solely at him. Steeling himself, he turned to the following trio. "I sure hope you know what you're gettin' yourselves into. This kid, he ain't- he ain't normal, don't think that for even a second. People are gonna get hurt if you take him out of here."

Hadrian paused and looked over his shoulder, curious about how they would answer. Surely such a blatant show of the guard's foreboding wouldn't be brushed off so easily?

But there was a strange determination on the faces of his parents, whilst Dumbledore gave a tight smile. "Thank you for your concern, but we're quite sure we can take good care of Mr. Avaric." Hadrian didn't bother to stifle the bark of mirth that escaped him as he shook his head and continued towards the exit without another glance to the wand-users drifting in his wake. It looked like his 'fixer-upper' theory wasn't too far off the mark, even with his efforts of discouragement. Stubborn, these wand-users were. But no man could battle forever, and he eagerly anticipated the moment he would capitalise on their weakness.

The route wasn't one he was familiar with, as he and the other boys were brought in through a less public area, where there wasn't any chance of one getting free and attacking some poor bystander. In his earlier days he had taken to wandering the winding corridors of the institute, memorising its labyrinth as only the minotaur could, and so it wasn't difficult to simply walk where he had been barred from before. Where the doors were once locked and guarded, the men now moved aside, however begrudgingly. The presence of James Potter at his shoulder likely convinced them that he was under their control, and as much as he inevitably rebelled against the notion it was one he would have to put up with. Let them believe they held the key to his cage. He would only enjoy the day all the more when they realised no such confinement existed, the bars broken and contorted.

He was at the bottom of the stairs before any of the wand-users deigned to speak to him. "Har-Hadrian," James made a move to grab his shoulder but he twisted out of the way fluidly, turning to face the man with an eyebrow quirked. The black-haired man attempted to emulate some form of parental concern as he continued awkwardly, "We need to talk about your…behaviour. I know you haven't been taught any better, but you have to understand that we won't tolerate violence of any sort. If you plan to act like that, then, you'll be punished."

"How exactly do you plan to punish me, dear father?" Hadrian asked idly, unimpressed by the attempt at intimidation, dull as it was. "Lock me in my room? I'm afraid I'm quite used to that. Take away my toys? Unfortunately non-existent. Send me to bed without dinner? Starvation is something I'm rather familiar with. Maybe physical punishment?" He scrutinised James with a scornful eye, spying the show of aversion to such a suggestion. A crooked smile spread across his face, acrid in its falsity. "Don't worry yourselves so; I'll behave."

James blinked, surprised. "You will?"

His voice held a hint of sickening sweetness to it, barbed wire smothered in honey. "Of course. Such dissident actions wouldn't be tolerated at Hogwarts, would they Headmaster?" he flicked his gaze to Dumbledore, the old man watching him with careful eyes. There was something almost reminiscent in those sharp blue eyes, a wary assessment smothered by a grandfatherly twinkle.

"That's right, Harry," Dumbledore said almost happily. "I'm glad you're willing to…compromise with us, and I hope that one day you will feel no desire to hurt others. I believe that time amongst other children your age will help you in this, and learning magic will certainly keep you occupied."

Hadrian gave a smile that bared too many teeth. "I'm sure you're right." With that he spun on his heel and continued on towards the reception, restraining the urge to unleash _his _magic on the hapless wand-users. Oh, how he longed to _shred_ their mortal casings and _tear_ at their magic, to tug and pull and _shatter _their power until they lay weeping in desolate agony, broken in body and mind. The condescension aggravated him far more than any order, and it was only his recently formed resolution that kept him from giving into such violent desires. He enjoyed causing pain – it was more than a mere chore to him – enjoyed the art of finding which strings to play to make their screams just _so, _the macabre orchestra that he controlled with practised intimacy. To abstain when the temptation rose in such strength was not something he enjoyed, but he did have self-control, thank you very much. He would simply have to find some other revenue to _express _himself.

The receptionist looked up from her computer when they walked in, and the expression of shock that morphed rapidly into fear cheered Hadrian up significantly. Poor woman never suspected he'd be allowed into an area where the _nice, normal _people frequented; no, she much preferred a cage of _more _than mere circumstance.

He took smooth, purposeful steps towards her desk, body tilted in such a way that it turned his stride into a predator's as he stalked towards the receptionist. She shot up from her seat in a frantic scramble, shrieking, "What is _he _doing in here?!"

Hadrian's lips hooked up into a wide, hungry grin. "Why, I'm here for _you, _of course." Her face faded rapidly to a chalky white, and he barked a laugh at the irrational panic morphing pretty features into the animalistic terror of a prey that knows what it is only too well. He wasn't even _trying – _a grown woman was this scared of him by reputation alone! Lamenting the pathetic state of the vast majority of those who barely earned the designation of _Homo sapiens _was a rather common past time of his, but it was times like this that he held an appreciation for the softening of his species. Such blundering reactions rarely failed to amuse him.

"Calm down, my dear," Dumbledore soothed, standing a little in front of Hadrian as if to shield the receptionist. "Hadrian was only joking. You know how boys are at his age," he chuckled genially.

The receptionist was taken in by the kind surety of his words, and slowly edged back into her chair as her face regained some of its colour. Hadrian momentarily scowled at Dumbledore for ruining his entertainment, before pasting a beaming smile on his face. "That's right; it was only a _joke. _If I was _serious, _well," he leaned forwards, narrowing his eyes into a piercing glare that had the receptionist shaking even as he continued to smile cheerfully, lowering his voice into a purr. "That would be a different matter _entirely."_

"Hadrian, let's go," Lily said stiffly, urging him towards the doors. His smile dropped and he turned to her, giving the redhead a blank stare that had her shifting nervously. He knew what it looked like, having practised it for the express purpose of inducing this level of anxiety-driven intimidation. It was a fine art, after all, and a skilled artist knew every aspect of his chosen trade. A stare that conveyed an utter lack of anything living, emotion drained and covered until all that remained was an unthinking monster – he'd found that worked rather well on those most driven by their feelings. Lily's uneasiness merely provided a wider sampling for this theory.

Then his lips twitched up into the cruel lop-sided grin he so favoured, and he allowed his entourage to surround him once more. "Coming, mother." She flinched, and his smile widened just slightly.

**. . .**

_Sorry for the short chapter, but I've hit a bit of a writer's block and I want to at least update what I have done. This chapter gives a bit of insight into Hadrian's motivations for doing what he does, convoluted as they may sound. I hope you guys enjoyed it, and please leave a review on the way out; I always enjoy hearing what you think, and if you have any questions I'll do my best to answer them. _

_Quick question for all reviewers: in terms of the Light vs Dark war, which side do you think Hadrian should support, if he supports one at all? If it's the Light this doesn't necessitate the need for Hadrian to 'go good ' and redeem himself, and if Dark he won't be just some fanatically loyal follower of Voldemort. _

_Any ideas for pairings are also welcome; romance really isn't my forte, and if I do write one with Hadrian that relationship is hardly going to be a healthy one. I don't mind either het or slash, but since I've never properly written either I've no idea how it'd go, though it would probably be pretty slow since the vast majority of fast/love-at-first-sight romances are never believable to me (more like lust at first sight) with a few rare exceptions or one-sidedness._

_Anyway, thanks for reading!_


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